


heavenly surrender

by zigur



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, No Smut, Post-Time Skip, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Tension, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zigur/pseuds/zigur
Summary: Miya Atsumu kneels before his place of worship and keeps his eyes to the ground, afraid of a sight so bright that it would leave him in darkness.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 19
Kudos: 65
Collections: Atsukita Week





	heavenly surrender

**Author's Note:**

> written for atsukita week day 3 - warm touches
> 
> tagged M just to be safe, but there really is no smut here
> 
> title's from [surrender by depeche mode](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cV3TUevHgHo)

Miya Atsumu kneels before his place of worship and keeps his eyes to the ground, afraid of a sight so bright that it would leave him in darkness. 

He sits on his thighs, keeps his hands on his lap and keeps his mouth shut. Proper, static and quiet, all the things he’s never deigned to be before. Things he never would be again for any reason other than this. 

The figure above him casts a big shadow around him and he fits perfectly within it, with his back slightly bowed and his head lowered. It makes him feel both safe and intimidated, its weight over him comforting and oppressive at the same time. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

The air between them feels suffocating, saturated with tension and anticipation, and it makes Atsumu’s steady hands shake with thoughts of what’s to come, musings of future blessings. Above him, the sound of soft breathing echoes through the room, burying even the loud beating of his restless heart. 

“Atsumu,” A voice says and oh how he trembles at the sound of it, at the gentle reverence buried beneath a tone that would speak nothing to the less informed, to the less faithful. It took him some time to learn to unravel the layers of subtle emotion in that voice, sure, but Atsumu has all but dedicated his life to it by now. He would know it in his sleep, in any future, in this life and in the next—a true passion separate from his true passion, and one that he aims to become just as talented at. 

Calloused fingers startle him with a dance across his cheekbones, the ghost of a touch that leaves him a shivering mess. They draw esoteric shapes upon his cheeks as they travel down his face, uncaring of its consequences on him, before their touch turns solid as they press into his lips, testing their softness. Atsumu’s tremulous breathing is cut by a gasp he had no hope of suppressing and he longs, _longs_ to act upon the desire that burns in the pit of his soul. 

He refrains, for now. 

Long fingers pull away from his mouth, but he has no time to mourn their loss when it’s so quickly rectified. A warm hand cups his cheeks, gentler than he ever thought a hold could be, thumbs lined to caress his face. As if _he_ was something sacred, something holy to be cherished and worshiped. 

His face is lifted, and Atsumu meets his fate. 

The sight of brown eyes blesses him even as they burn into the fabric of his existence with a vastness of emotion that many would find shocking and uncharacteristic, would even deem impossible. 

Atsumu bears witness to the divine. 

Kita Shinsuke has always been striking in a way that felt inhuman to him. 

To Atsumu’s teenage mind, he was something not of this world, unreachable, unattainable. With his oil-dipped pale hair, piercing brown eyes snatched straight from a fox spirit and lips he couldn’t help but think about at night while dweilling at the edge of unconsciousness, Kita Shinsuke was something _other_ , something _greater_. Someone made to haunt his dreams, with a personality that he had no choice but to fear and respect. 

Because Atsumu had talent and drive to spare, but Kita had a brand of diligence and self-assuredness that seemed beyond enviable, beyond human, unachievable. He was blunt and confident in a way that was wholly alien, composed to the very end but never to the point where he was unwilling to show emotion, to express his affection. The unbending, untouchable pillar that carried their team, someone Atsumu would never be able to stop admiring. 

Now, as adults, he’s grown into something even larger. 

The ink-dipped hair remains the same, and most would say that there are no riveting differences between now and then, but to Atsumu he’s aged into something that he finds himself struggling to gaze upon, in fear of falling further, deeper, harder. He still has the look of someone unreachable, but there’s an extra blinding quality to him now, and his was a face that grew to read divinity. Whatever strange brand of confidence Kita had carried during their school years has cemented itself, allowing him to find a kind of inner peace and contentment others could only dream of, that Atsumu himself knows he’ll never experience quite in the same way. 

His fingers have grown rougher too, Atsumu realises, though he never had the pleasure of being touched by them like _this_ in those days. His shoulders seem broader as well, and his arms are definitely thicker than they were, a result of hard work and effort that shouldn’t be as alluring as it is. He’s still leaner than Atsumu, still shorter, but still so much bigger than him at the same time and Atsumu _craves_. 

“You’re doing it again,” Kita’s voice breaks the silence of the room, soft and blunt all at once. The light that comes from the window behind him forms a halo around his head, and his every word feels like a secret being spoken, like something sacred. “Deifying me.” Something behind his eyes is disapproving, but Atsumu is blind to all but the affection and desire he still sees reflected back at him. 

“Can’t I?” He turns his head, smiling something devious into Kita’s palm and reveling at the twitch of his lips. A small little blessing—Atsumu hungers for more. “I don’t kneel before just anyone, ya know.” 

“Am I lucky, then?” There’s a teasing edge to his tone, and he leans in. His eyelashes are thick, fluttering gently with every blink of eyes that feel like a thousand needles on Atsumu’s skin. The tempo of his heart accelerates, _moderato_ to _allegretto_. “That I’m the one who has ya like this?” 

“Lucky, he says,” And because Atsumu is impatient, has always been impatient, unwilling to be outdone, to be left behind, he leans forward too. Kita’s breath is hot, blazing fire on his skin and Atsumu’s fingertips tingle at the sensation. “As if there’s anyone else who’s worthy of it.”

The hand on his cheek bruises its way down his neck, making him gasp and shiver and _want_ more desperately than he’s ever wanted before. Atsumu wishes, _wishes_ the touch would brand him, would leave visible the mark he feels down to his bones so he could show it to the world and boast. _Here_ , he would say, _gaze whereupon he touched me, the blessing I earned, the gift I was granted_. 

He thinks maybe Kite Shinsuke drives him a little crazy, but Atsumu has never cared about anything of the kind before and he’s not about to start now. 

Kita’s thumb presses against his throat and the whine it forces from out of him is needy and lewd, echoing through the room in a way that makes his cheeks burn. The eyes that look down at him burn at this response and Atsumu sharpens his smile even through his aching impatience and feverish neediness. He moves his hands from his lap to the sides of Kita’s legs, holding lightly and feeling the muscles of his calves under his loose pants. 

“What should I do with ya, Atsumu?” Years ago, this wouldn’t have been said—Kita would never have asked questions for which he needed no answer. Years ago, if it had been said, which it would not have been, it would’ve been said with exasperation or resignation—things Kita would never have expressed in such a way, if at all.

Years ago, Atsumu was in a similar position of wanting, but Kita was not in the position of wishing to be wanted. 

Now, though. 

Now things are different. 

Atsumu’s smile is razor-sharp when he speaks: “Lay yer blessings upon me, Kita-san.” It’s teasing and brattish and still, it is spoken with full conviction. Kita’s eyes narrow, and Atsumu feels euphoric in a way he rarely experiences outside of court, outside of _this_. 

“And if I choose to punish, instead?” His voice is lower than it had been moments ago, and his grip on Atsumu’s throat tightens by a fraction. It’s more than enough; he shivers, feeling too warm all of the sudden, out of breath and agitated. He’s never been any good at keeping his composure and he's sure he looks like a mess, but he wants, wants, _wants_ so much that it pains him to think about it, to feel so intensely. Deep inside his mind, the knowledge that he knows Kita takes satisfaction in seeing him unravel surfaces and it only serves to make him hunger even more. 

Their eyes meet. Atsumu’s mouth is dry and when he licks his lips, the movement is followed keenly. 

“I’ll take whatever comes my way as long as it’s coming from ya,” The gasp that echoes through the room doesn’t come from him this time. The exhale that follows feels like holy sulfur and fire in a city of sinners. Atsumu’s blood sings. “I’m greedy, Kita-san,” He says and it’s obvious, it shines through every aspect of his personality, it’s in his name and soul and Kita _knows_ it. “So whatever ya chose, give it to me. I want it all.” 

The thread that kept them apart snaps. 

He can’t tell who moved first, but that’s the last thing on his mind when they collide. Kita’s lips are hot, hot, hot on his own, petal-soft and demanding as they move, pushing and pulling in a way that makes him dizzy and leaves him aching. 

For a moment Atsumu wonders where he keeps all this violent abandon during his day-to-day life, if he keeps it anywhere at all or if it’s something only Atsumu brings out, if it’s something that belongs to _him_ and him alone. The thought is as exhilarating as the prospect of what’s about to come and he whines again, louder this time. 

Gentle touches lose their softness with every moment, the hand on his neck digging its nails into his skin and scratching, just painful enough to make him shudder, while the other buries itself in his hair and pulls just so. And _gods_ , Atsumu thinks. He’s been with others before—though never as many as people tend to assume—, he’s had fun and fooled around but nothing has ever come close to this. 

Kita knows him in a way no human should be allowed to know another, sees right through him with those sharp eyes, sees what he wants, what he needs and then _delivers_. No wonder Atsumu deifies him; he can give, give and give, repay in the same coin with just as much enthusiasm, seek to worship in a way that overwhelms, but in the end it still feels as if he’s always the one being blessed. 

Maybe Atsumu was just born to take. He takes and takes because he’s greedy and because he’s always, always _starving_. 

Kita kisses with want; Atsumu answers with hunger. 

By the time they pull apart, he’s a shaking mess. His lips feel tender, his breath is heavy and erratic and his grip on Kita’s leg must be bordering on painful with how tight he’s holding on to them. How ironic that the only thing grounding him is touching the same man who’s pulling him apart. 

But Kita, he thinks. Kita looks _divine_. 

He’s panting a little too, though not nearly as hard. There’s a pretty flush across his cheeks that makes Atsumu’s heart skip a beat or two where it’s hammering against his rib cage, and his lips are cherry red, parted, wet and wholly sinful. The look on his half-lidded eyes is dazed and filled with criminal intentions. 

Atsumu wants to worship him. 

He knows that Kita’s more than happy with his rice fields, and he’d die before even daring to dream of asking him to give that up, but he can’t help but imagine how he’d look in a different life. Dressed in fine clothes, attending fancy parties at luxury penthouses, surrounded by beauty and wealth and being waited upon in the way he deserves to be. 

But Kita likes simplicity and hard work, enjoys the satisfaction brought upon by the mundane and thrives on doing what people who could never reach his level would consider below them. He’d despise the rich lifestyle Atsumu sees from time to time, hate the ostentatiousness of it all, the futility. 

And Atsumu wouldn’t like him so much if he wasn’t exactly who he is. 

Still, maybe one day he’ll ask Kita along to one of the fancier events he’s forced to attend every so often. Maybe he’ll beg him to make the sacrifice of dressing up in a nice suit and allow himself to be flaunted a little, so Atsumu can show the world that he was the one who was chosen. That he’s the one who might be famous, who might have a following, but he’s not the one who should be revered. 

For now, though, he has more pressing concerns. 

Kita pulls at his hair, gentle as if he was aware his mind had been wandering and Atsumu smiles again. He leans in, finding some of the desperation that wreaks havoc on the pit of his stomach reflected in Kita’s eyes before lowering his gaze to his red, red lips. It's easy to allow himself to hover, to brush against soft skin, light enough to feel the electric current of the touch before pulling away just as instinct and need push Kita forward. 

“Tease,” A fact, stated through a voice that does not shake, but that has a drop of fondness and impatience made only for Atsumu’s ears. He lets out a little huff of laughter, pleased with himself, and the hand on his neck rises, cupping his cheek once again. “So pretty,” There’s not a hint of embarrassment in Kita’s voice, no sign of shame, of nothing but sincerity and admiration and, Atsumu feels his face heat up and his heartbeat spike. 

He tries to look away, but the hand on his face won’t let him. 

Kita’s delight shines a lot clearer across his expression than any of his other emotions do. His reddened lips pull into an actual smile rather than the hint of one, and his eyes brighten with something that could almost be read as mischief. It’s something Atsumu has seen plenty of times before, but that never ceases to bewitch him. 

“As easy to rile up as ever,” Kita says, dropping feather-light kisses from the line of Atsumu’s cheekbones to the corner of his mouth, pulling a small sigh of contentment out of him in the process. It’s always dizzying to be treated so gently, so tenderly, and Kita is an expert on it, on making him feel like he’s something precious, something to be admired. 

“Not for everyone, ya know,” Atsumu whispers as the kisses travel south, lowering down to his jaw and neck, with little bites peppered between them that drive him to the brink of insanity. He’s not a desperate teenager anymore, but Kita sure has a way of making him feel like one, filling his mind with hopes of being left a mess of nothing but reds and purples for the whole world to see. 

“Just for me, then?” Kita asks, pulling at his hair and forcing him to arch his neck so he can bite into his collarbone and Atsumu almost draws blood in a half-failed attempt to keep his noises down. “It’s not healthy to hold that in, Atsumu-kun.” A tongue, warm on the hollow of his neck. 

Atsumu exhales, loud and heavy, and makes a snap decision. 

The hands he had wrapped around Kita’s legs move, rising up to his shoulders and pushing him into the back of his chair before settling at the base of his neck, and Atsumu himself follows the movement. He stands with a single graceful motion, seeking to maintain the distance between them through the entire ordeal, eyes never leaving Kita’s face as he moves, catching the moment his puzzled look is cut by a flash of a familiar hunger. 

By the time he’s done, their positions are reversed—he’s the one standing above now, arms resting on top of Kita’s broad shoulders and a knee resting against the chair, shoved between muscular thighs. 

And gods, he thinks. If it isn't a breathtaking sight, though he supposes the same can be said about each of the sights he bore witness to so far. 

But something about the way Kita’s hair falls back as he cranes his neck to look up at him with those copper eyes of his, about the way the pink staining his cheeks darkens in the process, the way his lips still look so pretty and swollen, half-parted in surprise and expectation—it’s almost too much. 

It’s not nearly enough. 

Atsumu is starving. 

He bends down, letting his lips press softly against Kita’s before pulling back, trying very hard not to enjoy the subconscious little chase that follows his action, but he’s never been very good at subtlety outside of court. 

“Just for you, Kita-san,” He whispers against the soft skin of a warm cheek, trying not to drown in the smell of gently sun-kissed skin—soap, he thinks, and something citric. “There’s no one else.” 

A sharp gasp, followed by a shuddering breath and Atsumu watches as Kita rests his forehead against his collarbones. The hands on his hair and face drop down to his chest, reaching around to drag themselves down the dip of his back and treading dangerously close to one of the places Atsumu desperately wants them to be before settling on his hips, leaving his entire body feeling too tight, too hot, too much. 

“Ya know, Atsumu,” Kita says, lips moving against his collarbones. The warmth of his breath both tickles and has him shivering. “I get the feeling that yer gonna be the death of me.” He lifts his head and their eyes meet again. There’s something half-serious in his expression that Atsumu feels mirrored in every beat of his crushed up heart, and he grins, smug but earnest. 

“Ya know, Kita-san,” He cups Kita’s cheek now, and feels as if he’s holding something indescribably precious, something holy and delicate that should never have been entrusted to him in the first place. Nothing is safe with him. All Atsumu does is _hunger_ , after all. “I feel like yer gonna be the death of me too, one day.” 

He leans down again, and Kita leans up.

Atsumu surrenders himself to hunger.

**Author's Note:**

> its half past 5am so sorry if this is a little messy and ooc !!! my brain has melted
> 
> thanks for reading and please leave me a comment !!!
> 
> twt @[ziguruns](https://twitter.com/ziguruns)


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